


It's Not Everyday

by BlueColoredDreams



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU where Yams is a baker, Aftercare, BDSM, Birthday Cake, Face-Fucking, Future Fic, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 13:30:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8145811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueColoredDreams/pseuds/BlueColoredDreams
Summary: Tadashi, a professional pâtissier, makes Kei a cake for his birthday. The preparation for the cake is a bit unorthodox, however.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Tsukki! 
> 
> Have some pwp! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Being a pâtissier is probably the most satisfying job in the world, Tadashi muses. He deftly cracks the eggs, one after another, into the pan.

He likes pleasing people, and sweets almost always make people happy. He gets to immerse himself in work that’s tedious and detailed, but one that gives tangible—and sweet—results.

Also, his boyfriend has a sweet tooth rival the size of the entirety of Japan. So being a professional cook has its definite benefits.

He says this aloud as he carefully pours in sugar with one hand, whisking with the other.

“Mmph,” is Kei’s only reply.

Tadashi laughs; he picks up the bowl with the eggs and sugar and places it into a large bowl of warm water, then whisks.

“Of course,” he continues. “That’s how we got to this, anyway.”

He’s also pleased that not only does being a pâtissier allow him to feed Kei sweets whenever Kei wants—Tadashi is a sucker for the quiet noises of admiration and enjoyment Kei has  _always_ made when he eats Tadashi’s sweets— but it allows him to direct his attention as he makes the shortcake to Kei himself. 

Kei doesn’t reply, but Tadashi doesn’t expect him to; the gag rather prevents that. Still whisking, he looks over his shoulder to check on Kei.

He raises an eyebrow, “Isn’t that right, Tsukki?” he prompts.

Kei’s eyes open and his brow furrows in frustration. It hasn’t even really been long since Tadashi’d left him there, on the living room floor, but he’s flushed and shaking. He manages to nod his head, and Tadashi turns away with a soft hum of approval.

He checks the temperature of the eggs with a candy thermometer, and then, satisfied, he takes the bowl and sets it under the mixer. He turns it on, and sets a timer. 

If Tadashi wasn’t used to whipping up cakes and pastries without much thought, it would be a disaster to try and cook while making sure that Kei was okay at all times. The fact that he’s currently turned on as hell doesn’t necessarily help his attention; luckily, he’s been making shortcake for Kei for years now. 

“This needs to whip for two minutes,” Tadashi says, dusting his hands off on his apron as he strides across the kitchen.

Kei makes good money and so does Tadashi; they're both settled comfortably in their careers: Their kitchen is just as good as the one in the cake shop Tadashi works at.

Tadashi loves his and Kei's kitchen more though, because it’s wide and open and theirs. The kitchen is separated from the living space by half a bar counter, where they eat and do their budgets. On it, sits the wireless remote to Kei’s vibrator. 

Tadashi picks it up and drops it into his apron pocket  as he crosses over to Kei. Kei whines at the sight of it, head straining back slightly.

“Shh, shh,” Tadashi coos, cupping his hand against Kei’s scalp. He pets through soft curls, easing Kei’s head back each time.

Kei’s cheek presses against Tadashi’s stomach. Tadashi beams down at him and drags his fingers down Kei’s cheek, sliding them into Kei’s slick open mouth. Pooled saliva coats his fingers and makes it easy for him to thrust them in and out.

Kei groans, tongue curling up to cup Tadashi’s fingers as he rubs over Kei’s tongue and teeth. Tadashi uses his free hand to rub Kei’s scalp, pampering him with attention, just like he knows Kei wants.

The sight is lewd and stirs a deep heat in Tadashi’s stomach. He steps back and tugs his fingers from Kei’s mouth, dragging them down Kei’s neck. He skips over the red leather collar and it’s harness rings—all functional, but were just decoration today—and presses his fingers to the hollow above Kei’s clavicle, feeling the thrum of Kei’s heartbeat and the way his throat bobs as Kei swallows hard.

His time is limited, but Tadashi lets his fingers slide down to Kei’s chest, covering one pectoral with his palm. Kei’s chest presses against his skin with each inhale, his breath loud and almost whistling because of the gag. Tadashi rubs the heel of his palm against Kei’s nipple, flesh flush and pebbled even without his attention.

Kei bounces on his thighs slightly, and Tadashi laughs, twisting his hand so he can pinch Kei’s nipple. “Have you been doing that when I’m not looking? You’re so lewd, Tsukki,” he teases, twisting his fingers even as he caresses Kei’s cheek with his freehand.

Kei makes a noise that Tadashi interprets as a sob. Even before Tadashi had bound him on the floor and gagged him, Tadashi had made sure that Kei was good and ready for what was to come:

He’d stripped Kei slowly, lavishing attention on his skin with his mouth.

Tadashi takes another step back and looks at his work again; Kei leans into him as he steps away and wobbles dangerously. Tadashi wonders if he’d let him lay there if Kei fell.

No, because he would want to see. Because Kei kneeling and bound, mouth forced open around the gag is a sight worth seeing; because Kei is gorgeous.

Tadashi had kissed all up and down Kei’s stomach and thighs, spread him open on the sofa and kneeled in front of his boyfriend and lathed him with his tongue until Kei was pink and twitching and pliant.

Tadashi loved fucking Kei open with his mouth, Kei’s thighs heavy on his shoulders, almost as much as he loved watching his always expressive boyfriend eat the food he made.

But he loves seeing Kei’s cock flush dark and purpling with arousal, head dotted with pearls of precum and twitching every time Kei breathes just as much. It brushes the darkening bruises Tadashi had left on Kei’s stomach, the cock ring a garish slash of color against Kei’s flesh.

The timer starts to go off in the kitchen, and Tadashi takes another step back. Kei whines, saliva dripping down his lips.

“Well, since you’re so needy,” Tadashi murmurs, drawing the remote from his apron pocket. He shudders as his hand brushes over his own erection. He presses the speed setting on the remote, amping up the intensity of the vibrating plug he’d inserted into Kei.

It’s still far from the highest Tadashi could set it, but the effect is immediate in the way Kei’s posture stiffens. His back arches and his shoulders roll, precum splashing up against his stomach.

“Yes?” Tadashi asks. Kei nods and shudders, voice breaking his pants.

Tadashi turns back to the kitchen and trots over to the mixer. He lifts the whisk, watching as the egg and sugar mixture stretches in stiff ribbons from the whisk back to the bowl.

He begins mixing in the cake flour, humming to himself as he listens to the sounds of Kei working himself against the plug. Once the second half of the flour is added, Tadashi picks the bowl from the counter and turns to Kei.

Even from the kitchen, Tadashi can see the flush high on Kei’s cheeks, like he’s delirious with fever. He folds in the flour with even strokes, balancing the bowl against his thigh.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he says conversationally. “I can’t wait until I can give you the rest of your present, Tsukki. You’re almost the color of the inside of a strawberry…”

Kei lets his head loll against his shoulder, shifting his weight back onto his shins. Tadashi can see his stomach clench tight, then unclench, a roll of muscles under sweaty skin. Tadashi’s cock aches, years of memories of Kei milking his cock just like that sparkling under his skin.

He sets the batter down with shaking hands and braces himself back against the counter. He closes his eyes and lets himself listen to Kei for a moment, a moan escaping his own lips. His hips arc into empty air, the pressure of his jeans against his erection giving him a brief moment of relief.

Kei groans back—Tadashi isn’t sure if it’s because Kei’s watching him, or if he’s just having fun with the plug. He grips the counter until the cold marble warms under his touch, then he inhales. He steadies himself, then turns back to the batter.

“Patience,” he promises Kei, and himself.

He starts to scoop the batter into the milk and butter he’d prepared before, incorporating the two slowly. “If you distract me, you might get relief, but you won’t be able to have your cake and eat it too,” he says. He laughs at his own weak joke.

He’s glad he’s already prepared the strawberries and cream—he doesn’t think he could control himself for that long. All he has to do is pour the batter, then he can fuck Kei’s mouth raw.

And Kei knows it, knows what’s in store for him, knows because he's asked for it all. Tadashi’s composure and arousal is a gift all for him, specially packaged and presented and given, just like it always has been. 

“So I’m making a four layer cake,” Tadashi says, to keep his edge off. Between this and rutting up into the counter, he thinks he’ll make it. “And for a twist, I also made a matcha mousse to go in the middle since you liked the matcha tiramisu we had at the shop so much. A fully grown man eating himself sick on cake, I couldn't believe it. Maybe this time you'll control yourself.”

He pours the batter evenly into each of the cake pans, careful to add to the extra to the edges. He sets the bowl aside.

He carefully drops each pan once against the counter, then transfers them into the oven. He sets the timer, then scrapes the spatula against the bowl. He walks over to Kei once more, meeting Kei’s hazy gaze with a grin of his own.

“Here,” he coos, holding the spatula out to Kei.

Kei leans forward and sticks his tongue out, lapping up the batter. As he swallows, Tadashi lets the spatula drop.

Kei will probably complain about staining the carpet later, with more than one substance, but Tadashi doesn’t care. He presses his shin up against Kei’s dick and retrieves the remote from his apron once again. He turns it up two more settings, Kei’s voice cracking as he tries to arch away from the sudden sensation only to rub up into Tadashi’s leg.

Tadashi shucks his apron, then tosses it aside. He unzips his jeans, and frees himself from his boxers, now sticky with precum. He arches his hips and lets his head hit Kei on the chin as it springs fully erect.

He rubs circles against Kei’s chin and cheek, breath stuttering out. Kei rocks his body up against him, head turning until Tadashi lines up with his slick mouth.

Tadashi doesn’t even have to move to slip into Kei’s mouth—Kei does it for him, tongue circling to make up for the lack of pressure of his lips.

Tadashi cradles Kei’s face between his hands, thumbs rubbing soft circles underneath the rim of Kei’s glasses for a brief tender moment. He looks behind Kei, past the lube-slick base of the plug and the matching red restraints that loop Kei’s hands behind his back and attach them to his ankles. The small bell is still within touching distance.

Kei reads the pause for what it is and stretches his fingers out, tapping the bell to reassure his lover. Tadashi hums under his breath and taps his thumbs against Kei's warm cheeks. 

“You’re not going to be able to talk tomorrow,” Tadashi says confidently, then thrusts forward.

Kei’s mouth is wet and slack and  so often, his cock brushes against the metal of the gag, and it’s good.

Kei swallows around him when Tadashi is buried deep in his throat. He swallows again and again, throat mimicking the way he clenches his hole against the plug, and Tadashi sees stars earlier than he really wants to admit.

His hands drift from Kei’s cheeks to his hair; he knocks Kei’s glasses off, and grips into blond waves as his body starts to wind tighter and tighter.

His shoulders curl in and he hunches as he fucks into Kei’s mouth, Kei’s whines and the damp press of Kei’s teary cheeks against his pelvis spurring him on more and more, to the point that he makes himself pull out before he hurts his lover with his body's need to push harder and deeper like he would if he was fucking Kei's hole. 

Kei’s tongue chases after him, the very tip of his tongue flicking over his slit, and then Tadashi comes hard over Kei’s face and into his mouth.

Tadashi sinks to his knees, panting. His fingers are still tangled into Kei’s hair, but he forces them loose, fumbling with the catch on the gag.

It falls from his fingers with a muffled jingling as he rests his head on Kei’s shoulder.

“Tashi,” Kei groans, voice more hoarseness than words. “Tashi please, please, please.”

Tadashi nods and kisses Kei’s neck, hands drifting to Kei’s erection. He cups it in his hand, slick and hot and dripping. He rubs Kei’s head and pushes back his foreskin, thumb rolling circles against the bare head of it.

Kei cries out words that are half curses and half Tadashi’s name as Tadashi keeps rubbing his head, occasionally slipping down to trace the most prominent and sensitive vein on the underside of Kei’s dick.

Kei’s body shudders so hard Tadashi thinks Kei will break, and he gives Kei the gift of mercy.

He loosens the ring and closes his fist around Kei. At the same time, he reaches around and grips the base of the plug.

He strokes Kei’s erection down to the base at the same time he eases the plug out. Then, with one swift movement, he pushes it back in, gripping Kei’s base. Then he repeats the motion.

Kei starts to sob, body leaning its entire weight onto Tadashi. Tadashi can feel Kei’s stomach and shoulders shake with orgasm, his palm hot and wet with cum, but still Kei’s body heaves as Tadashi twists his dripping fingers around him, and another pulse of semen coats Tadashi’s hand and splashes his stomach.

“Kei,” Tadashi hums softly, “Kei, babe, you’re still twitching. More?”

Kei nods, breath rough and shallow as he cries out over and over. Tadashi squeezes him gently, and Kei’s cock pulses in his hand, spilling a small bit of watery ejaculate over his coated fingers.

“One more, one more for me baby,” Tadashi pleads. “I’ll feed you all sorts of cake and wash you down and you’re so good, one more, don’t worry about anything, just feel good.”

With a moan that almost sounds like a retch, Kei obeys as Tadashi angles his wrist and pushes the plug right against his prostate. Tears and spit and sweat stream down his face and he starts to wiggle, hips arching away.

“N—n—no, no, no more, done, please—“

Tadashi nods and fumbles with one semen coated hand to shut the vibrations off, because Kei’s voice is hazy and exhausted.

He kisses Kei’s jaw, and leaves the plug inside of Kei. “Ok, we’re going to untie you first,” he murmurs, “Yes?”

Kei nods, then drops his head to Tadashi’s shoulder. Tadashi undoes the clasps on the restraints on his ankles, wrists, then his collar, murmuring praises to Kei the whole time. He helps Kei onto the sofa, which Tadashi had previously covered with old sheets and towels. He has to physically pick Kei up off of the floor, because Kei's legs won't support his weight. 

Kei flops into the cushions face first and stretches out. Tadashi slowly removes the plug, rubbing Kei’s back with one hand as the blond whimpers at the new bought of stimulation.

Tadashi wipes his hands on a nearby towel, then sets the plug on it. He reaches out and takes Kei’s wrist in his hand, then starts to rub Kei’s wrist with his thumbs. “Can you feel this?”

“Mm,” Kei replies, then nods instead.

Tadashi drops his head and kisses each finger, then sits on the sofa by Kei’s feet. He repeats the motion with Kei’s shins and feet. Kei is asleep before Tadashi’s massage reaches his knees.

Tadashi stands on shaking legs, then shucks his semen-splattered jeans. He tucks himself back into his boxers.

He glances at the timer on the oven and feels himself flush in embarrassment. Out of twenty five minutes, they’d only used ten.

“We’re getting old,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head.

He checks the rest of the ingredients in the fridge, then fetches a bottle of water to put near Kei. He waits for the cake to finish on the floor next to the sofa, cheek resting against Kei’s hand as he watches his lover sleep.

The cakes finish baking, and while they cool, Tadashi naps in the chaise near Kei. He wakes after the timer pings to signal the sponge cake has cooled long enough.

He checks up on Kei briefly before getting to work on Kei's birthday cake.  

Tadashi assembles the cake with great care before slicing a generous slice of it.

He takes it over to Kei, sets it carefully down before sitting next to it himself. He gently taps Kei’s hand.

“Baby, wake up,” Tadashi murmurs.

Kei squints at Tadashi, “No.”

“But the cake is done,” Tadashi answers, stroking Kei’s cheek with his knuckles. “I can put it up though, if you’re still too—“

“I’m awake,” Kei interrupts, still squinting at Tadashi. “ _Cake_.”

Tadashi laughs. “I’ve got it.”

He balances the plate on his knee and cuts off a piece. He holds it up to Kei, who leans forward to take the bite.

Kei’s eyes flutter shut and he gives a quiet moan.

Pride fills Tadashi like he’s swallowed something hot; it mixes with tenderness as Kei opens his mouth up for another bite.

It doesn’t matter that he’s been making Kei birthday cakes since their late twenties, that he makes Kei breakfast in the morning and saves him extras from work: Every time Kei murmurs his approval, every time his face lights up, it’s like the first time all over again.

“Happy birthday, Kei,” Tadashi laughs softly. He leans up and brushes a soft kiss to Kei’s mouth, tasting the sweetness of his own baking there.

“Mm, thanks for indulging me,” Kei answers, cupping Tadashi’s cheek with his hand. He presses another kiss to Tadashi’s mouth. Then another. And another. “I know you prefer to be the one all tied up,” he whispers between tender kisses.

Tadashi flushes, then holds up another bite of cake for Kei. “You know I don’t mind switching it up,” he chastises gently. He wipes a bit of cream from Kei’s chin. “Besides, you don’t turn forty every day.”

“We agreed that I’m thirty five,” Kei complains.

Tadashi rolls his eyes and shoves another bite of cake into Kei’s mouth. Kei’s lips twitch up around the fork and Tadashi knows that just as that small grin fills him with warmth and love like fresh-spun sugar, his own small gestures fill Kei with the same affectionate adoration.


End file.
